


darling, will you walk me home

by moonfleur



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But it gets better I promise, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Open to Interpretation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, but mainly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfleur/pseuds/moonfleur
Summary: When Minghao arrived, in the aftermath of Mingming’s departure Junhui told himself that no, Minghao wasn’t a replacement, that he wasn’t there to fill the space in his heart that Mingming had taken when he’d left. But somehow it had taken less than a day for Minghao to slip between the cracks in his armour and situate himself in them, in that empty place in his heart he thought he’d never fill again.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 28
Kudos: 84
Collections: ENFANT D'ÉTÉ - ROUND 1





	darling, will you walk me home

**Author's Note:**

> **[PROMPT S261](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyBKkurMVTo)**  
>  This is it! My submission for Junfest. Once again this got really out of hand and ended up being double the length I was expecting it to be, it is almost completely unbeta-ed (shoutout to [@naeunoneonenine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/naeuioneonenine) who helped me look through this post-upload!) and a mess so I hope that you like it anyway? I saw this prompt and immediately knew I had to write it so I hope I kind of did it justice.

When Minghao arrived, in the aftermath of Mingming’s departure Junhui told himself that no, Minghao wasn’t a replacement, that he wasn’t there to fill the space in his heart that Mingming had taken when he’d left. But somehow it had taken less than a day for Minghao to slip between the cracks in his armour and situate himself in them, in that empty place in his heart he thought he’d never fill again. 

It had been awkward at first, embarrassing even, especially after Junhui had mistaken him as an old friend, unloading a mouthful of excited chatter and spit in equal measure all over the new trainee. But _no,_ Minghao had said, _I don’t think we’ve met before but it’s nice to meet you anyway_ , and Junhui had to bury the feeling that blossomed in his chest as Minghao smiled, sincere and beautiful despite being uncomfortably accosted by a stranger and covered in bodily fluid. 

Junhui liked to think that that was when it all began, when Minghao let him lead them both to the practice room, let him introduce Minghao to other trainees like they’d known each other their whole lives. The other boys took to him almost immediately, his cold exterior worn down without much resistance, and Junhui was almost proud at how easily he had been accepted. He had smiled when Soonyoung wrapped an arm around Minghao and dragged him to where the other members of the performance team had been practising. The way Minghao’s eyes had lit up as he glanced between the members fanned embers in him he’d thought had long since dissolved into ashes.

Minghao slowly ingratiated himself into their group of trainees, a solid invaluable addition, filling up the spaces that Mingming had left, but to Junhui he was always _more_. Where the other trainees saw a new member of the performance team — Minghao’s skill was undeniable — Junhui saw in him a piece of home, a connection to a place he had given up ages ago. So whenever Minghao turned to him, questioning as he drowns in the flurry of Korean often thrown at him, Junhui would be there like a moth drawn to flame — the meaning of the words rolling off his tongue in a language only they could understand. _But he’s not Mingming_ , his mind would supply on occasion and Junhui would recoil, the reminder like the stinging of a slap across his face.

Until one day, when the two of them had collapsed in a heap on the floor of the dance studio, the speakers still blaring the same song that had been playing for the last hour. Minghao had grumbled but had pushed himself right back up, body catching up to the music in a way that was so magnetic that Junhui could do nothing but stare. The way his body rode the music on the boat of their choreography was nothing short of mesmerising, and all Junhui could think of was _no, he is not Mingming, he is Xu Minghao_.

━━━━━━

The meeting room was cold, aircon on at full blast to combat the disgusting sticky heat that came with Korean summers and Junhui could feel his sweat cool uncomfortably on his skin. He suppressed a shiver as he felt the other boys file in after him, Wonwoo on his left and Minghao on his right, comforting presences as they stood as one against the wall of casting directors and managers. 

Junhui watched as their company President rose from his seat — the middle of the entire row of staff members — steely gaze shifting as it passed over each and every one of them. Thirteen there were; thirteen boys whose futures hinged on the decisions made by these people who sat before him. The weight of that shook him, revealed in the trembling of his hands as the President beckoned Seungcheol forward, and he knew Seungcheol was trembling too. 

You see, they never called them into the meeting rooms, never called them unless it was to announce something _huge_. The last time they had been called in was when Samuel had left, and Jun couldn’t help glancing at the members, couldn’t help but wonder who would be leaving this time. Traitorous, his eyes darted to Minghao and he felt a weight descend from his chest like his heart had dropped out through his feet, fingers twitching as they fought the need to reach out. No, it would not be Minghao, whoever it was, he wouldn’t let it be Minghao.

The voice of the President speaking cut through Junhui’s internal debate and he flinched, eyes returning to where Seungcheol stood, head bowed, before the older man.

“Congratulations. You boys will be debuting.”

Junhui doesn’t think he’s ever seen Seungcheol’s head shoot up as fast as it did then, eyes wide, an expression quickly mirrored on twelve other faces as they looked toward each other for confirmation that they hadn’t misheard. 

“Sir?” is all Seungcheol said before a hand slipped into Junhui's and the world was thrown into utter silence, the words being spoken between Seungcheol and the President never making it through the haze that had settled over him and the warmth in his hand. He looked to his right and caught Minghao staring at him, a smile threatening to spill over his lips as his eyes glistened with so many emotions that Junhui would never be able to name. He tightened his grip on Minghao’s hand and Minghao finally relaxed, releasing the smile he’d been holding back, and Junhui knew at that moment that he would do anything to keep that smile where it was.

A loud snap returned his attention back to where their leader was standing, eyes still wide as though he hadn’t quite returned to his body after the shock had hit him. The President looked on in understanding, the source of the noise a little black box he was holding in one of his hands, shut now that the contents of the box had been removed. Junhui looked to his other hand to find a thin band of silver clasped gently between his thumb and forefinger, the words engraved on the inside of it’s silver surface indiscernible from where Junhui was standing. 

The older man pocketed the box and held out his hand, which Seungcheol took and Junhui could see the tremor in his hand as he placed it slowly, almost reverently, in their President’s. Time seemed to slow as the President took Seungcheol’s hand and slipped the ring home onto his baby finger. Jun felt more than saw as Seungcheol let out the breath that he must have been holding the entire time, only to find himself exhaling too. A thumb stroked across the back of his right hand in comfort, leaving his skin burning in its wake but he could do nothing except hold on tighter. 

“Congratulations, Choi Seungcheol, Seventeen’s leader.” 

The room erupted into cheers, lead by Soonyoung who had never been good with serious silences and Junhui found himself cheering along with everyone else. Junhui watched as Seungcheol walked straight to Jihoon, burying his face in the smaller boy’s hair and relaxing only when Jihoon held him tighter, relief mirrored on his features as they held the weight of their six years together between them. 

Next to be called was Soonyoung, who had been given the title of ‘Performance Team Leader’ to nobody’s surprise. Soonyoung had accepted the ring, eyes sparkling and had promptly thrown himself onto the President in true Soonyoung fashion. Junhui had watched in mild amusement as Wonwoo had tutted and gone forward to pull the over-excited boy back into their ranks as he muttered apologies to the President. 

Jihoon was next, the President announcing him as Vocal Team’s leader, which had been surprising but also not. Jihoon, who was probably the only member to have been involved in performances with all three units, was their wild card — the member who could do anything. It made sense though, Junhui thought to himself as he watched the President slip the ring onto Jihoon’s tiny finger, as the only other member to have been around almost as long as Seungcheol there was no way he wouldn’t have been given a leader title. 

With the leaders assigned, the rest of the rings were awarded according to age. Jeonghan and Joshua went first before Junhui heard his name being called. His heart thrummed in his chest as he felt Minghao give him one final squeeze before letting him go while Wonwoo gave him an encouraging pat before not-so-subtly shoving him out of the line. Junhui’s feet felt like lead and his skin tingled where it wasn’t covered by the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and it took him every ounce of willpower to not make a run for the exit. He trapped his nervousness, swallowing it down along with the voice that kept whispering what-ifs into this mind. 

_Congratulations_ , the President said to him as he placed the ring on the last finger of his right hand, and Junhui felt as the last of his doubt was washed away. He was going to debut! _They_ were going to debut. And most importantly — his eyes locked with Minghao’s, equal parts stormy and calm, as he made his way back to the line — Minghao was going to debut with him. 

Minghao found him, later that night, slipped into his bed like he’d done many other times before, arms wrapping naturally around Junhui’s waist as he fit himself against the curve of his body. Junhui didn’t say anything, gave Minghao time to settle body and mind as he let himself breathe in the familiar lavender scent of their shampoo from where Minghao had tucked himself under Junhui’s chin. 

There was nothing but silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds were the breathing of the other members in the room who had long since fallen asleep. Junhui’s fingers twitched and this time he gave in, allowed himself to brush the hair back from where he knew it was falling into Minghao’s face despite it being almost pitch black. Minghao sighed into the touch and Junhui felt his heart lodge itself into his throat until it felt like he would no longer be able to breathe. Junhui had just resigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to die of asphyxiation in Minghao’s arms when Minghao spoke, nothing much just a very small, whispered _Do I deserve this?_ in Mandarin. Air slammed into Junhui’s lungs alongside his outrage as he pulled Minghao closer to him as if he could protect him from the thoughts that were eating him alive. 

_“Of course you do,”_ Junhui said, and Minghao flinched at the force with which he’d said it, voice sure and unwavering. Because how could Junhui not believe that Minghao deserved it when he believed that Minghao deserved everything? He wished there was a way that he could transfer all of that belief into the boy beside him who seemed to be shrinking more and more into himself as the seconds passed. Throwing aside all sense of caution, he allowed his lips the briefest of brushes against Minghao’s forehead before whispering, with all the assuredness of someone who could only be just a little bit in love. “ _You deserve the world_.”

 _I don’t deserve you though_ , Minghao had mumbled into the warmth of Junhui’s neck some time later and Junhui had snorted, ignoring those words for the warning they were, and pulling the sleepy boy closer until he was flush against Junhui’s body. 

_You deserve better than me_ , is what he whispered into the darkness once Minghao’s breathing had evened out and the only other sound was the beating of his own heart as it pounded something fierce in his ears. Someone in the bunk above him rolled over and Junhui stilled, waiting until the incoherent sleep-laced mumbles became light snores before he allowed himself to fall asleep. 

━━━━━━

“Hand in your rings.”

Junhui watched as the shock rippled through all thirteen of them, eyes wide and questioning as they glanced between each other before returning to the same person who had gifted them the aforementioned bands. The ring was a weight on Junhui’s little finger and his fist tightened in response to the words, reluctance laced through every bone in his body and mirrored in the others’. He saw Seungcheol open his mouth, perfectly formed argument ready to fall, before he caught sight of the cameras mounted around the room, enough to capture them all. A brief flash of defiance danced across his features and Junhui was almost sure Seungcheol was going to say something but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared leaving nothing but a defeated young man in its wake. 

Seungcheol clenched his fist once and then relaxed, pulling the ring of his finger and dropping it into the President’s waiting hand as though it had burned him. Without a word he spun on his heels and marched himself back into their ranks, taking his usual spot between Soonyoung and Jihoon. 

One by one he watched as they returned their dreams into the hand of the one who’d given it to them not two months ago. Junhui felt the emotions that ran through the boys as it ran through him, perfectly hidden underneath their unbreakable facade of shock — hurt, disappointment, fear, confusion, betrayal. He felt them with every drop of a ring into a palm like metal weights threatening to take his heart down with them. Junhui waited until all the other boys had gone before he went, the metal band clutched tightly in his hand. He could feel everyone’s stares on him, their literal last shred of hope — Minghao’s defiant gaze burnt a hole in his chest, almost daring him to do what the rest of them could not. But Junhui knew his place, knew they were all or nothing, and he would never risk that for the world. Seungcheol had let go of his ring, and Junhui would follow suit because wherever they went he would go even if they brought him to the edge of the world and told him to jump. 

Jump he did, took the leap of faith like the rest of his members as he dropped his ring into President Han’s upturned palm. He refused to go without a fight though, revealing for a split second all the emotion he was carrying on his shoulders as he dropped the mask he’d spent years carefully curating. The cameras wouldn’t see it, he knew, had calculated the angles well as he’d made his way forward, but the President had a mask of steel, expression unwavering, and Junhui knew when to accept defeat. 

Only when he returned to the line did the explanation come — they would have to prove that they deserved the rings, not only to the staff but also to a panel of external judges. _As if we haven’t been proving ourselves these last four years,_ Seungcheol had scoffed afterwards when they’d all gathered in the tiny living area of their dorm. Of course, Junhui could see the worry that sat beneath the surface of their leader’s features even as he tried to prove otherwise, knuckles white where he was gripping the edge of the stool he’d sat himself on. 

A pale hand came up and placed itself lightly atop their leader’s knee, and Junhui followed it back to where Jihoon was sitting, expression grim but posture as sure as he’d ever been. He gave Seungcheol’s knee a light squeeze and it was like a switch had been hit and Junhui could only watch in silence as Seungcheol’s walls came crumbling down. He sank into himself, burying his face in his hands as despair finally sunk its claws into him. Jihoon looked at him with a sad kind of understanding before turning his gaze back to the room, whatever softness he’d shown to Seungcheol gone in an instant, replaced by the cold hardness he commanded the recording studio with. 

“We fucked up today, and I know you all know that, but we are Seventeen for a reason. Our strength lies in each other and we _will_ get our rings back. We _will_ debut.” The _or we will die trying_ was left unsaid but Junhui heard it all the same. Despair gave way to determination as they looked between each other, every gaze a promise that they would do this _or else_. Across from him, Wonwoo met his gaze, the weight of their four years heavy in his eyes as his lips curled just slightly upwards. Acknowledgement and reassurance. Junhui smiled back. 

━━━━━━

Of course, like all things in life, things were easier said than done and Junhui often found himself helplessly on the die trying side of their promise. It was their third day into their week of hell and Junhui was already feeling the effects of the last few day’s lack of sleep. His bones felt like they weighed a ton and his muscles like they were nothing at all, all strength required to lift his deadweight frame completely stripped from him. He could see that same bone-weariness in his unit members, all of whom had stayed up with him the night before to prepare for the unit stages. Even Chan, whose energy had always seemed boundless even after ten hours of practice, looked ready to sink into the floor. 

“You ready?” Minghao asked, coming up to lean on the mirror beside him, sweat marks be damned and Junhui wished he could say yes but he knew better.

“Are we ever?” He said instead, the words coming out harsher than expected, the words scraping past his teeth as if they’d had to claw their way out, past the walls Junhui had taken years to build. Minghao frowned and took Junhui’s hand in his, the touch burning a familiar line of fire straight through his chest. 

“ _We_ always are,” and Junhui had to force himself to ignore the way his heart leapt at the emphasis on the collective and if his fingers curled just that much tighter around Minghao’s then that was for them to know only. Junhui turned to look at Minghao to find him looking back at him too, the trace of a smile dancing across his lips. Junhui swallowed around the lump in his throat that he was so sure was his heart before dipping his head slightly and pulling Minghao back to the centre of the practice room. 

They, in fact, were not ready. Junhui knew the minute he stepped onto the sad wooden platform that was supposed to pass for a stage that this was it, it was going to happen and on live television in front of all fifty of their fans. His whole body trembled, the nerves radiating from so deep within him he couldn't pinpoint the source. The fans screamed and Junhui’s mind whited out, the sounds becoming nothing more than a ringing in his ears. He looked around him, watched as his member got into position and willed his body to follow suit. It was by sheer determination and hours of doing the same routine over and over again that allowed him to complete the routine, muscles taking over where his mind had failed. He wasn’t even aware that the music had cut and that his members were halfway off the stage, only the return of a visibly fuming Minghao tugging on his arm brought him back to the present. 

Although to say that Minghao was fuming would be an understatement — he looked about ready to murder Junhui, eyes torrential and energy frenzied. Even Soonyoung and Chan were giving him a wide berth, having situated themselves at the furthest corner of the practice room from where Minghao loomed over Junhui. How he did it when Junhui was taller would remain a mystery to Junhui. 

“ _What the fuck was that?!”_ he spat, the words spoken in his own language hit harder than any slap would have and Junhui would have flinched had he not still been numbed from before. A fisted hand slammed against his chest and Junhui was shoved back against the mirror, what should have been a sharp pain merely a dull ache that blossomed from where his shoulder blade came into contact with the glass. 

Behind Minghao he was vaguely aware of Soonyoung ushering a wide-eyed Chan out of the studio but his attention was entirely fixed on the boy in front of him, eyes rimmed as red as the tips of his ears. Minghao was angry, a small part somewhere in the back of Junhui’s mind noted, strange. Junhui couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Minghao this angry, knew for a fact that this was the first time he'd had it directed at him. A part of him felt like he should be scared — because everyone was always a little scared of an angry Minghao — or even a little bit angry, but he couldn’t bring himself to be. He’d never be angry at Minghao, he realised, Minghao could hit him all he wanted and Junhui knew with a painstaking certainty that he would offer up the places he’d missed and tell him to keep going. 

Awareness returned to him when the first tear burst through Minghao’s defences, streaking through the layer of dirt and sweat on his skin. Slowly, he reached a hand out and brushed the tear away, a hushed _“I’m sorry_ ” spilling from between his lips. That was all it took for Minghao to crush himself against Junhui, face buried in his shirt. Junhui could feel him tremble against his body so he pulled Minghao closer, as if holding him tighter would help still him. He carded a hand through Minghao’s hair, whispering a litany of _sorrys_ as the boy shook against him. Junhui knew he was crying too, the tears spilling over in rivulets that fell unbidden onto the shirt of the boy he was holding. But Junhui didn’t care about himself, all he cared about was Minghao and the fact that the boy who never cried was soaking his shirt through. 

He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong, he was so sure that he’d at least done the steps right — it was a rare occasion that his muscle memory failed him so he knew that it hadn’t. He might not have been present but he knew that much. Now wasn’t the time to ask though, not when he could feel Minghao’s legs give way under him, the combination of physical and emotional stress finally catching up with him. 

Junhui lowered them carefully to the ground, tucking Minghao carefully against him as he let the mirror take their combined weight. He didn’t know how long they sat there, tears flowing freely as the musty air of the dance studio settled onto their skin, damp and stale. It felt like seconds and aeons, the only sounds were the shudders that wracked Minghao as he tried to breathe between sobs while Junhui’s own were stifled almost immediately because he couldn’t let Minghao know he was crying too. Instead he waited, hands carding through Minghao’s hair patiently, fingers gentle as they brushed away the tears as they came. A part of him was angry because he knew it was his fault, that Minghao was crying because of _him_ , the promise to keep a smile on Minghao’s face forever shattered by none other than he who had promised it to him. He was upset with himself, as he should be, but there was time for self-loathing later. 

Movement against his chest brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked down to find Minghao staring up at him, tears glistening in his eyes but no longer falling down his face. Minghao stared at him, and Junhui could almost feel the way Minghao’s gaze danced gentle across his face, feather-light as it flitted from his eyes to the streaks his own tears probably left on his face and then to his lips where it paused for the briefest of seconds before returning to Junhui’s eyes. Heat flared sharp in his chest but it was buried in an instant — now was not the time. He raised a hand, gentle as he brought up to Junhui’s face, eyes never once leaving his. 

“I was so worried, _Xingan_ ,” he whispered, and Junhui’s heart shuddered to a stop in his chest. Minghao rarely called him that, and only ever teasingly. Now, said in the privacy of their practice room without the mask of a joke over it, it hit Junhui hard. He sucked in a breath, saw Minghao’s gaze dip back to his lips, and nearly threw all caution to the wind. Instead, he turned to press his lips firmly against the palm Minghao had on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing another kiss into it lightly for good measure. 

“You never heard me, you know.” Minghao’s eyes searched his, as if to make sure he was actually hearing him this time around. “I kept calling your name, asking if you were okay. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before. Not _that_ lost in your head.”

Junhui broke their gaze, unable to take the intensity. “I don’t know what happened either. It was like cotton balls in my head, in my ears. I’m surprised I heard the music.” He looked back at Minghao, suddenly afraid. “I did, didn’t I? I didn’t miss anything? I don’t,” he gulped. “I don’t remember much.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” Minghao groaned, dropping his head back against Junhui’s chest. “You know I don’t really care about the performance, even though, yes, you did fine. I was so worried about _you_ , I couldn’t concentrate either.”

Junhui’s heart stuttered in his chest and he had to pray to every single god he could think of that Minghao hadn’t heard. In the end, all he could really do was hold Minghao tighter. “I’m-,”

“If you apologise one more time, I swear to God Wen Junhui I will actually be properly mad at you.” Minghao lifted his head to direct a pointed glare at him, and Junhui finally relaxed. If Minghao was being snarky, then he was almost back to his usual self. 

“Alright then, I won’t.” Junhui offered him a smile, careful at first but gaining in intensity when Minghao offered one back. “But thank you, though. For caring.”

Minghao scoffed but his eyes were laced with a fondness that warmed Junhui to the bone. “As if I could do anything else.”

Junhui knew then, that no matter what happened — with Seventeen or with any other aspect of their lives — they would, at least, have each other. Both personifications of a home, warm and comforting, where they could be their absolute _rawest_ selves. Junhui doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at ease. 

━━━━━━

They debuted. 

In the end, the members had pulled through, worked tirelessly, endlessly, through the emotional roller coaster that was 17project and its subsequent fallout. They had beat the show, all or nothing, and had come out from it stronger and closer than Junhui thought he’d ever see them. If their teamwork had been great before, it was absolutely solidified now, immovable, unbreakable, and no one could have been prouder of the boys who had become his family, his home. 

The first few months had been torture. Week after week of music shows and schedules that never seemed to end, topped with countless hours of practice because there was no way they could be anything less than absolutely perfect. In a situation that could have led to tempers running high, the members had chosen instead to find solace in one another. Choosing other methods to vent their frustration and to curb their exhaustion. 

Junhui watched as Soonyoung and Seokmin kept a very weary Jihoon as occupied as possible, on the little sofa they had crammed into the far back corner of their tiny practice room. Seungcheol, always never far from Jihoon, stood by and watched as Jihoon eventually broke into a smile, the tiredness slowly slipping away from his features. Joshua and Jeonghan had taken refuge, as usual, in the backroom — the door of it just open enough to give Junhui a glance of the two of them, huddled over a tiny laptop, the single set of earphones dangling between them. 

The youngest three, on the other hand, were never ever tired — Junhui had caught sight of Seungkwan just before belting out some song or other to a very startled Dino and a rather bemused Vernon. The fondness in his eyes as he watched his best friend sing a mirror to the emotions Junhui found stirring in his chest whenever he thought of his own best friend. 

Speaking of Minghao, his eyes found the boy almost effortlessly, taking in the way he was currently helping Mingyu out with some of the choreography. The way his body moved, lithe and graceful while still being strong and powerful, as he demonstrated step after step for a Mingyu who Junhui could tell was getting increasingly frustrated. He snapped at Minghao, and Junhui held his breath, afraid that Minghao was going to snap back and disturb the strange semblance of peace that had fallen over the practice room, but he didn’t. Instead he had laughed, ruffled the hair on Mingyu’s head playfully and then turned Mingyu back towards the mirror so that they could continue. 

Something settled, low and almost bitter, in his gut and Junhui shoved it down further, even though he could almost taste it, bitter and cloying on his tongue as Minghao rolled his eyes exasperatedly despite smiling the widest Junhui has seen him smile in weeks. The smile that used to only be directed at him.

“You’re staring again, Jun.” The voice beside him snapped him out of his reverie and he turned to look at the skinny, bespectacled boy currently sitting beside him. His gaze was still trained on the book in his hands but despite his terrifying short-sightedness, Junhui knew he never missed anything that happened around him. 

Junhui chuckled, knowing better than to try and deny his actions. “I was, wasn't I?”

The boy hummed, not looking up from his book, and Junhui nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s settling in well, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo looked up at him then, frowning slightly before redirecting his gaze towards the only two figures currently still dancing in front of the mirror. “Who? Minghao? I should hope so. He’s been with us over a year now.”

“You know what I mean,” Junhui gestured helplessly and Wonwoo laughed, his nose scrunching up in the adorable way it normally did. 

“You mean how he’s no longer permanently attached to your side?” 

The words stung, just a little, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He knew it was a good thing, something he’d always wanted for Minghao, so why did the confirmation hurt? Wonwoo must have sensed his inner turmoil, because he leaned closer, just enough so that their shoulders were touching — a grand gesture for someone who was never fond of excessive skinship. 

“It’s a good thing, Jun.” Wonwoo murmured, and Junhui couldn’t do more than nod as he watched as Minghao laughed at Mingyu, the sound carrying across the practice room, crawling its way into the pit where Junhui had conveniently decided to store all his unwanted feelings so that it could fester, dark and heavy, like the rest of them. 

━━━━━━

Junhui should have known then, that it was coming. He figured that some part of him probably did but he had probably decided that the best course of action was to ignore the thought resolutely. Although, it was getting a lot harder to ignore as time passed. 

It started in the smallest ways, just a few months after Mansae promotions when they were in the midst of preparing for Pretty U, in the form of a small touch. Gentle, too gentle, hand brushing back hair that was immediately masked by laughter and a shove. But Junhui knew him too well, could see through his disguise almost as if it were his own. Mingyu responded in kind, with a shove and a grin canines flashing, speaking fluently a language that was so entirely _Minghao_ that Junhui had to look away, the bitterness returning to his mouth nauseating. 

That was only the beginning, Junhui could only watch as the touches got softer, the gazes lingering, the laughter louder, and the smiles wider. It was a novel thing really, being able to see how Minghao slowly became more comfortable, not just with Mingyu but with everyone else, and more importantly with himself. Of course, he figured Minghao’s growing friendship with Mingyu was a huge factor in this particular development because while Junhui was familiar, already comfortable, someone who shared a culture and language with him, Mingyu was the person who chose to reach across the gap. 

In all honesty, he could never have faulted Mingyu for being one of the first to befriend Minghao. In fact, in many ways, he was grateful that Minghao had a friend who could properly introduce to Korea and the language, who was willing to reach his hand out and bring Minghao over to the other side. Of course, it helped that they were the same age, that they had similar interests, that they were both tall, beautiful, and artistic. The two of them cut striking figures every time they would walk the corridors of the company or broadcast buildings together — the staff would whisper, girl idols would giggle — and Junhui would have had to be half-blind to say that they didn’t look good together. 

Junhui had, in fact, been half-blind though — had seen it all but had refused to acknowledge the possibility of where it was leading but there was no escaping it this time. Not when Minghao cornered him in the middle of the night during their Shining Diamond tour, eyes wide and very much afraid when he asked if he could stay with Jun that night instead of Wonwoo. Of course, Wonwoo, ever as perceptive, took one look at Minghao and left the room with nothing more than a pat on his shoulder. 

It has been a while since Minghao has sought Junhui out in the middle of the night and while Junhui had missed it, he knew that it also meant Minghao must have had a lot on his mind. They fell into their old routine without any hesitation, washing up together wordlessly because Junhui knew that Minghao always needed to gather his thoughts before one of their talks. Junhui took that time to study Minghao, to study the young man he has become, now more than a year since their debut. Minghao had given up his cute pastel image the minute he’d been given a chance to, choosing instead to go with something closer to his own personality — quirky, a little bit punkish, equal parts soft and rough. His hair, now a darker shade of brown, made him look older, more mature, and according to Junhui, more _alluring_.

“Why were you looking at me so hard, _Xingan_?” That was the first thing Minghao said, tucked neatly against the curve of Junhui’s body under the covers of the hotel room’s queen-sized bed. Junhui hated how the term sounded now, falling from Minghao’s lips so easily without any thought of what it would mean to him. 

Junhui pulled away to look at him again, a replay of how he had looked at him before. “Because I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Minghao laughed, pulling Jun back so that he could rest his head against Junhui’s chest once more. “You see me all the time though. Every day.”

“You know what I mean,” Junhui mumbled into the crown of his head.

“I know. I miss you too, you know.”

“Don’t lie. You don’t need me anymore. You’ve forgotten me.” Junhui had meant for it to sound like a joke but it came so full of the bitterness Junhui kept buried that Minghao pulled away. He gave Junhui a look, studying him as his eyebrows pinched together, just noticeable in the light of the one lamp they’d left on. 

“You know I’ll always need you, right?” His expression was serious, lips just slightly downturned. 

Junhui smiled and cupped his cheek gently, hoping Minghao couldn’t see the sadness beneath it. “You shouldn’t though.”

“Don’t be silly,” Minghao breathed, leaning in to press his forehead against Junhui’s shoulder. “You’ll always be special to me. You were my first friend here, and the only piece of home I have. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“You’re special to me too, Xiao Hao.” _If only you knew just how much_.

They were silent for a while, the only sounds filling the room the sound of their breathing, even now after all this time they were still synced — two breaths that sounded like one.

Then Minghao squirmed, and Junhui could feel its approach in the way Minghao shifted, fingers clutching just that much tighter around Junhui’s shirt. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

The question made Junhui freeze, chest stuttering so hard that Junhui was sure Minghao had felt it. Has he ever been in love? Was he in love now? _Was that the answer Minghao really wanted to hear?_ So many questions raced through his mind in the span of a second and then blank. There was nothing in his mind, just a blank fuzziness. 

He opened his mouth and his tongue felt like rusted lead, thick and fuzzy, and so heavy he wasn’t sure if he would be able to speak at all. “Why?” The weight of that word sat heavy in his mouth. 

Minghao shifted again and Junhui tightened his grip around him, not forceful, just reassuring, a _relax, I am here_. 

“Because I think I am.” 

There it is, the proverbial ice bucket to the fire in Junhui’s heart that should have been doused almost immediately because he knew, as much as he hoped it would be him, it wasn’t. He wanted, and God did he want, but this was Minghao and Junhui knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. 

“It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?” 

The loud intake of breath Minghao took was more than enough of an answer for Junhui, even as Minghao seemed to curl further into his arms. It took him some time but he eventually spoke. 

“Yeah… But I don’t know, Jun. I don’t know what it’s like, to be in love like that so I can’t even say. All I know is that he makes me…” He paused, took a breath. “He makes me _feel_ things, things I’ve never even felt before.”

Of course, Junhui knew what he was talking about, those feelings, that strange gravitational pull that always kept you within their orbit, always brought you closer, drawing your gaze even without you knowing. The way your heart constantly threatened to burst forth from your chest when your gazes would meet, the tingles on your skin when they looked at you and _saw_ you. And then there was the happiness, the sheer giddiness, of just being with them and basking in their presence. 

Junhui knew all too well. But now, he also knew how it felt for love to not be returned in the way you expect. He knew Minghao loved him, would never question it, but with Mingyu in the picture, Junhui would never be that person to Minghao and that _hurt_ , with all the force of someone taking a battering ram to the wall of your heart and leaving it splintered, and in pieces. 

Of course, there was the off chance that Minghao _wasn’t_ actually in love, was only infatuated with the idea that Mingyu was, but Junhui would never be the one to tell him that. Minghao’s happiness was primary even to his own, which Junhui knew was probably not healthy but it was too late for him anyway. From the minute Minghao had stepped into that practice room, Junhui knew he was a goner. 

He looked back at the boy in his arms, at the way he was chewing on his bottom lip, gaze directed at nothing as he lost himself in his own thoughts. He didn’t know how to help, how to advise Minghao, he _couldn’t_ without giving away his own feelings. In the end, he figured something neutral would do. 

“If it is, then I’m happy for you, Xiao Hao. I don’t know much about it, but I know that being in love is supposed to be amazing. Don’t worry too much about it for now, hm? You need to get some sleep for the concert tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” Minghao mumbled, still deep in thought. “I really hope it will be amazing though.”

Junhui pressed his lips against the crown of Minghao’s head, breathed him in and let the familiar scent wash over him. “It will be,” Junhui murmured into his skin, even as he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. 

━━━━━━

“Fuck this! And fuck all these useless feelings!” Minghao yelled as he slammed the door to Junhui’s room closed before throwing himself unceremoniously onto Junhui’s bed, completely ignoring the fact that Jun was only half in his pyjamas. Junhui pulled the rest of his pyjama bottom on before he flopped himself on the bed beside a still fuming Minghao. His ears were as red as chimney bricks and Junhui was overcome by the sudden urge to touch it, to see if it was indeed as hot as it looked. 

It has been a couple of months since the last time Minghao had mentioned feelings so expressly and since then Junhui had watched, completely and utterly helpless as Minghao dug himself a hole deeper than he could crawl out of. So it was no surprise to Junhui that he would need someone else to help him back out of it. He brought his hands to his own chest, turning his head towards Minghao. “What’s going on, Hao?” 

Minghao grunted, shoving something into Junhui’s chest before promptly turning away from him. Startled, Junhui reached for the item to find Minghao’s phone, already unlocked, the screen open to one of his Kakao chats. Junhui glanced once more at the figure beside him before thumbing through the chat. It was Minghao’s private chat with Mingyu and there, right at the bottom, a photo of Mingyu with a girl. It was, undoubtedly, a couple photo — Mingyu with his arms around her shoulders and hearts in his eyes as they smiled at the camera. She was pretty, probably one of the idols they’d bumped into during promotions before but also very, _not Minghao_. Emotions warred within him — how would you feel if the love of your love loved someone else? He was upset, obviously, because Minghao was upset, the anger his mask for what was really going on under the surface. The other emotions, the parts of him that felt almost relieved, he pushed aside — the thought nearly made him sick. 

He exited the chat and put the phone down on the bedside table before shifting just a bit closer to Minghao, who was still facing away from him. Hooking an arm around Minghao’s waist, he tugged Minghao closer, until they were flush, Minghao’s back against his chest. He could feel Minghao’s pulse race, fast and hot, under his palm, and he tucked his chin over Minghao’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, his lips just ghosting over the crest of Minghao’s annoying cute ears. Minghao remained silent for a while, chest rising and falling steadily under Jun’s palm and then, a sniffle. Just a small one, barely loud enough to be heard, but Junhui never missed anything when it came to Minghao. 

“Oh, Hao,” he whispered and that was all it took for the dam to break. Minghao hiccuped, choking back a sob before rolling around and burying his face in Junhui’s chest. Junhui let him cry, not saying anything as Minghao sobbed broken sobs into Junhui’s shirt. Junhui carded his fingers through Minghao’s hair gently, hoping the repeated motion would calm him down.

Eventually, Minghao’s breathing evened out and his crying petered out even though Junhui could still hear him sniffle every now and then. He kept his hand in Minghao’s hair, fingers playing with the strands gently as he waited for Minghao to speak. 

“It hurts so much, Jun. Why does it hurt so much?” God, he sounded so broken and Junhui’s heart was being shredded with every word. 

Junhui pressed a kiss, light and feather-soft against Minghao’s forehead. “Because it is heartbreak. And they say the heart breaks as hard as it loved.”

Minghao sniffled, fists balling up where they are clutching at Junhui’s shirt. “Have you-,” a hiccup. “Have you ever felt this before?”

 _Every day_ , Junhui wanted to say but then another face flashed into his mind, stony as he said goodbye before walking out the door of their dorms. Junhui could still picture the scene, the way his back had looked as he’d left them, left _him_ , and never returned. Junhui’s heart panged, vestiges of an ache that was so old and so familiar. “Yes,” he said instead. “It felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces and shoved back into my chest.”

Minghao choked out a sob. “Yeah… Yeah that’s what this feels like.” There was a pause, another sniff. “Does it ever stop?”

Junhui felt the way his heart was clenching, throbbing with the pain of both old and new breaks and a part of him wondered if that was his lot in life. If he was meant to be nothing more than a vessel for heartbreak, collecting more with every step he took in this life. “It does, for some people.”

Minghao frowned up at him, a look of concern worrying it’s way onto Minghao’s already tired face as he placed a palm against Junhui’s heart. “Did it for you?”

“No,” he whispered, unable to tear his gaze from Minghao’s, who was looking at him with more intensity as time passed. He offered Minghao the best smile he could. “But I’ve learnt to live with it. I’ve already accepted its presence in my life.”

Minghao’s fingers traced lines against Junhui’s chest and flame was added to the ache in Junhui’s chest, heat burning along every place that Minghao touched. “Who was it?”

Junhui shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll tell you some other time.” 

“Tell me something though,” Minghao breathed, and Junhui could see the desperation in his eyes. “Please. I don’t want to- to think about it.”

“You were the one who helped me through it,” Junhui’s voice was soft as he said the only words he would ever speak about it because it was true. Minghao had been a distraction, the most beautiful distraction, and Junhui had given in to it only for him to end up becoming Junhui’s greatest source of heartbreak. But, of course, Minghao would never know that, this secret one that Junhui will take with him to his grave.

“I did?” Minghao spoke softly, but steadier now, no hint of a sob or sniffle. 

“Yeah,” Junhui let out, the relief of being able to admit it to himself and Minghao palpable in the way his body seemed to relax against Minghao’s. “Even though you never knew it. You took my mind off it, a lot.”

Something in Minghao’s gaze seemed to shift then, the intensity burning even deeper as Minghao trailed the hand that was already on Junhui’s chest upwards until it rested against Junhui’s face. “Will you help me take my mind off it then?”

There was something in the way Minghao said it, eyes dipping for a split second, that caused a stirring deep in Junhui’s gut, but Junhui brushed it aside as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Uh… Of course. What do you want to do? We could watch that drama you’ve been wanting to watch since-,”

“No,” Minghao cut him off, fire in his eyes, and there was no mistaking the way his eyes travelled to Junhui’s lips this time. He looked back up at Junhui, eyes both glistening and burning as he traced his finger along Junhui’s jaw all the way down to his chin, stopping with his thumb hovering over Junhui’s bottom lip. “ _Xingan_ …”

He trailed off, leaving his palm blazing against Junhui’s jaw. “No. Hao, you don’t want to do this.”

Minghao smiled then, all teeth and brought his face closer to Junhui’s. “And how do you know what I want?” His gaze travelled over Junhui’s face, slow and deliberate, and Junhui felt his grip on his own sanity loosen with every movement. 

“ _Xiao Hao_ …” He groaned, the stirring in his gut growing larger with every second, and he hated how weak his voice sounded. 

“Please,” Minghao whispered, his lips grazing over the top of Junhui’s ear and, for all that Junhui was he really was a weak man, especially when it came to Minghao.

He reached for Minghao, a hand cupping his face gently as he searched Minghao’s blazing stare. “Only if you’re sure.” 

“Just fucking kiss me, Junhui.”

That was all it took for Jun to crash his lips against Minghao’s. It was desperate and messy, a kiss born from hurt and heartbreak, but it was a kiss just the same. Really, Junhui couldn’t even remember the last time he _hadn’t_ looked at Minghao without wanting to kiss him. Their teeth clashed and Minghao hissed at the contact but Junhui was already bringing a hand up and into Minghao’s hair to reposition them. Minghao’s hands wrapped around his neck to pull him closer as he licked lightly against Junhui’s lips to part them. Junhui let out an embarrassing sound at the sensation, pulling away to look at Minghao who already looked entirely debauched, hair sticking up in weird places and lips kissed red and swollen.

“Have you done this before?” Junhui asked, breathing heavily.

Minghao flushed a deeper red but shook his head. “No.”

The words stirred something dark and coiling in Junhui's gut along with the realisation that they were each other's firsts. Fuck if that didn't make him want Minghao even more. “Neither have I,” he answered, finally, his eyes boring into Minghao's as he tried to convey everything he's ever wanted to say in that one look alone.

His words seemed to set something alight in Minghao’s eyes and he pulled Junhui closer to him again until their lips were almost touching. “Do you want to stop?” Minghao asked softly against his lips and Junhui knew from that moment on that if there was one thing he would never be able to do, it would be to deny Minghao anything.

“No.”  
  


━━━━━━

That was only the beginning of what Junhui would like to call his slow descent into the deepest circles of his own personal hell because it was like boundaries no longer existed for them and who was Junhui to argue when Minghao seemed hell-bent on making Junhui his first... well, everything. It got to a point where it became a sort of open secret amongst their members what Junhui and Minghao did behind closed (and sometimes open) doors. It had become so common that Junhui was sure even their company staff knew what was going on, especially after they were both handed a duet with strict instructions to just _write about each other_. It had made Junhui think, then, about what Minghao really was to him, about what they were to each other. They were friends sure, and Junhui was also pretty confident that they were at least platonic soulmates but he wasn't sure where they stood once he started thinking about the hookups. But one thing he was certain about was that if he had thought them connected before they'd started sleeping with each other, then they were definitely completely wedged into the spaces of each other now. They had become so attuned to each other that Junhui swore he’d started being able to tell whenever Minghao was feeling particularly distraught, even when they were apart from each other.

Although, if Junhui was being honest with himself, he never expected them to take it as far as they had. He had promised himself that that one moment of weakness would be the first and last time he would cross those barriers with Minghao, but that, too, had proven false. Especially on the days that Minghao would spend with Mingyu, which usually ended with him returning so overwhelmed that he would grab Junhui and promptly shove him up against the nearest closed door.

Junhui, however, was also a fool for allowing himself to go along with all of it willingly even when he knew it never ended well for either of them. Not when he could see in Minghao’s eyes after that he had spent the entire time wishing Junhui was someone else. Junhui, on the other hand, was selfish and would let himself be used even as he took what Minghao would give, knowing full well it was never meant for him to have. The aftermath was always where the pain would finally catch up to the pleasure. His realisation would dawn in the darkness of the room and Junhui would have to bite his fist to stop himself from crying out as it slowly but surely ate at him from the inside out. Then there were the _really_ bad days, the days when Junhui would have to leave Minghao, as much as it killed him to because the thought of being wrapped in so much _Minghao_ would leave him feeling completely and utterly suffocated.

It was on one of those nights that Wonwoo found him, in the darkness wearing nothing but one of the boxers he’d picked up off the floor on the way out of his room, crouched against the wall in the middle of their dorm’s hallway with tears running down his face. 

“Jun?” He asked cautiously, footsteps slowing as he approached almost like he was afraid that Junhui would bolt. _As if Junhui had anywhere to run to_. “Junnie, are you okay?”

Junhui nodded, but that released the sob he had been trying so desperately to hold back. Immediately, Wonwoo was at his side, his hands on Junhui’s face as he brushed away the tears. “Oh God, Junnie.” Strands of hair were brushed out of his face as Wonwoo studied him, gaze completely serious and more than a little sad. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Junhui didn’t answer, couldn’t, not if he didn’t want the sobs he had been holding in to overwhelm him completely. “Come here,” Wonwoo said gently, tugging on Jun’s hand until he was seated on the ground with Wonwoo’s arms wrapped around him. He felt fingers in his hair and allowed himself to relax slightly, sighing into the touch as his eyes slipped closed. “You’re okay, Junnie. Just breathe.”

They remained like that for a few minutes, Wonwoo waiting patiently for Junhui to calm down, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement into his hair. “I don’t know,” he said finally, voice hoarse from all the usage. “I don’t know why I keep going back.”

“Because you love him.” Trust Wonwoo to always _know._ And to never feel the need to sugarcoat his words. 

“But he doesn’t love me.” Wonwoo was silent but Junhui was sure that Wonwoo was already aware of this, choosing to remain silent for Junhui’s sake. “You can say it, you know, it won’t hurt any more than it already does.”

Junhui couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, which only made Wonwoo’s hold around him tighten. “He loves you. Just… not in the way that you want him to.” Junhui must have a made a face because Wonwoo couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at his lips. “He does, I see it in the way he looks at you. And I think that, deep down, he knows that this is hurting you even if he doesn’t know why. But you’re both too selfish, and too stubborn, to do anything about it.”

The words stung like he knew Wonwoo wanted it to because Wonwoo was never anything but honest, but it was the good kind of sting, a reminder that his habits were less than appropriate. Sometimes (a lot of times) he needed that, to be called out, and he was always thankful for Wonwoo, who always knew just how to do it. Junhui sagged against Wonwoo, who almost toppled backwards from the sudden weight, and wrapped his own arms around Wonwoo’s waist. 

“You’re such a good person, Wonwoo,” he mumbled, his heart calming as he breathed in the scent of his best friend. “God knows I don’t deserve it, don't deserve you really, but... sometimes... I do wish that it had been you.”

He felt Wonwoo still, hand stopping from where it was still combing through hair. “What do you mean?”

“I wish, sometimes, that I had fallen in love with you instead.” Junhui’s fists tighten around where he has gripped the back of Wonwoo’s shirt. “You’ve always been so good to me and I know I’ve done fuck all to deserve it but I don’t think I would have been able to survive the last few years without you.”

Tears returned to Junhui's eyes because found that he really did mean it, that a part of him truly wished he had loved Wonwoo instead — his best friend of almost seven years, who was both unerringly patient with him and someone who wouldn’t hesitate to call him out on his bullshit. They would have worked and he knew it but Minghao had already embedded himself into Junhui’s life, slipped himself into the little cracks he’d left exposed that removing him meant destroying himself.

“Silly,” Wonwoo muttered in response, hand resuming its ministrations in Junhui’s hair even though his body remained tense against Junhui's. “You would have survived just fine. And you should know by now that the heart is selfish and senseless and it will want what it wants.”

Junhui couldn't help the sigh that escaped him because, of course, he knew that, a part of him resented it even, that his heart had just never been all that good at following his head. “Would you have loved me back? If I had fallen in love with you instead?” _Because no one has loved me back_.

“Don’t be stupid.” Junhui wondered if he was imagining the way Wonwoo’s voice seemed to tremble. “You know I love you already.”

Junhui knew that wasn't really an answer to his question but he took it anyway, giving Wonwoo's waist a light squeeze in response. “I love you too.”

“You better,” Wonwoo grumbled as he stood to haul Junhui to his feet. “Now get in the shower. You smell like sex and If you think I'm letting you into my bed in this state, you are sorely mistaken.”

Junhui rolled his eyes at Wonwoo's theatrics but he knew Wonwoo was serious about the state of his bed, and he really didn’t feel like sleeping alone or going back to Minghao so he mumbled a reluctant agreement and headed for the bathroom. Just before he entered, though, he paused and looked back to where he’d left Wonwoo.

“You know, you’ve been holding me for the last half an hour. You probably smell just as bad as I do.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened a fraction before dipping his head to sniff at his shirt. He grimaced as he looked back at Junhui. “I fucking hate you.”

“You just said you loved me though.” Junhui smiled at the eye roll he was offered in lieu of a response as Wonwoo made his way to him.

“I am reconsidering that sentiment,” Wonwoo retorted as he spun Jun around and shoved him forward into the bathroom. “Now let’s go or I will actually pass out in the shower.”

━━━━━━

Then it happened. But it didn’t happen with the same fanfare that had happened when he had started dating, a surprising turn of events for someone like Mingyu who was all about the fanfare. In fact, there was barely any sign that he had broken up aside from a slightly stormier expression that Junhui had blindly attributed to the stormy weather that was currently throwing itself against the practice room windows. 

No, the sign came when Minghao stormed into the practice room barely moments after and wrapped Mingyu in the biggest hug Junhui had ever seen him give, and Mingyu — Seventeen’s resident overgrown puppy — had done nothing more than pat him on the back before pulling away from him. The hurt on Minghao’s face was almost palpable and Junhui was about an inch from walking over and demanding an apology when he felt a hand come up to stop him, warm and steady against his arm.

“They just broke up.” Wonwoo’s voice sounded beside him, low and careful. Junhui whirled towards him, confusion dancing across his features. “Mingyu and his girlfriend,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

“I’m guessing he told Minghao first because Minghao’s been flustered the whole day. Pacing back and forth, an eye always on his phone until it was time for us to leave for practice.” Of course Minghao would have been stressed, if it had been Minghao in Mingyu’s position, Junhui would have been bouncing off the walls, practically leaking with anxiety. So he understood, but that didn’t mean his hurt didn’t ache a little at the small smile Mingyu gave Minghao after everyone had turned to face their choreographer, the only time Mingyu smiled that night.

The rest was inevitable. Minghao and Mingyu’s friendship had never been on hold despite Mingyu’s changes in relationship status and now, it was like Minghao had taken on the role of a nursemaid. He was attached to Mingyu’s side as often as could be possible, which meant literally all the time. Although those days still happened, the ones where Minghao would come up to Junhui and ask to be fucked senseless because, while Mingyu might have been single, Minghao’s feelings were still very much unrequited. That meant a whole lot of repression and even more Junhui being his very willing emotional outlet. But the aftermath of those days was always bad now, not because of Minghao, but because of how much it hurt hearing a name that was not his fall from Minghao’s lips. It never used to happen, Minghao often choosing to keep the pining within the confines of his mind. But now, it was like everything that he'd ever wished to say to Mingyu would find its way out of him, and every single utterance was like a lash against the skin of Junhui’s heart, each one taking away chunks of him at a time.

After a while, though, even those days started to happen less and less frequently, and this time it was obvious even to Junhui why. Minghao had spent the months following the break up so attached to him, so concerned, that he had started to take Mingyu out to ensure that Mingyu wasn’t cooping himself up at home. Junhui had watched as Minghao nursed him back to happy with wine nights and museum dates, the two of them falling into their own routine that meant that most of Minghao’s free time was spent with Mingyu.

This continued even after Mingyu was certified ‘back-to-normal’ by a very please Minghao and soon, it was like the roles were reversed and Junhui had a front-row seat to it all. It started off as very small things, like tensing up whenever Minghao was near him or blushing whenever Minghao would throw himself against Mingyu on the couch during their movie nights. That soon morphed into Mingyu returning from their ‘dates’ with a giddy smile on his face to match Minghao’s, and even more skinship than should be necessary on both their parts. As a friend, Junhui couldn’t be happier to see them both so happy but as a person, Junhui felt like he was in a constant state of trying to swallow a pill that had already dissolved on his tongue, the bitterness leaving a horrible aftertaste on his tongue.

He hated the feeling, tried to bury it under the fact that Minghao has been the happiest Junhui has ever seen him these last few months. He finally gathered enough courage to ask about it on one of their _own_ nights, because Junhui was still Junhui, and while he was not Mingyu he knew that ‘Junhui and Minghao’ meant just as much to Minghao as ‘Mingyu and Minghao’. They were doing nothing — both of them just curled up with each other in Minghao’s bed against a backdrop of slow jazz and scented candles, Minghao scrolling absently through Instagram from where he was pillowed against Junhui’s chest. It was a nice change of pace from their usual endeavours and, while the sex had been great, Junhui realised how much he had missed just lying there in comfortable silence with Minghao.

“You seem happier,” Junhui commented as he twirled a strand of Minghao’s hair around his finger as he spoke, tugging at it lightly to get Minghao’s attention.

“I am happier. I think…” Minghao trailed off but his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, his phone forgotten. “I was so hurt and so jealous back then, I kind of spiralled, and I think I took you down with me.”

Junhui hummed. “For what it’s worth, I went willingly.”

Minghao rolled over, so that he was propped up on his elbows, a frown lacing his brows as he met Junhui’s gaze. “Why? Why would you subject yourself to that?”

“Because it was you.” Junhui’s gaze, pointed when he fixed it on Minghao’s still frowning expression, softened slightly. “You know I would do anything for you.”

Still frowning, Minghao flopped on his stomach, right arm thrown over Junhui’s waist. “I was hurting you. I could see it, but you never said anything…” Minghao trailed off, the fingers of his right hand dipping unconsciously under the hem of Junhui’s shirt, and Junhui shivered at the touch.

“Because that was my own battle to fight, and I wasn’t going to drag you into it.” 

“Stupid,” Minghao muttered as he turned his face into the mattress. “You know I would do anything for you too, right?”

Junhui couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up at Minghao’s exasperated tone. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m not saying anything. One day, when the battle is over I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“You better,” Minghao grumbled, pulling himself higher up the bed so that he could return to using Junhui as his pillow.

Junhui laughed, tugging Minghao closer. “I will. But first thing’s first… You and Mingyu huh?” 

“No, Junhui. Fuck off,” Minghao groaned into his shoulder and Junhui had to pretend that the smile he felt against his skin didn’t make his heart ache.

━━━━━━

It had been absolutely futile. No amount of late-night talks or joking around with Minghao about his developing relationship with Mingyu could have prepared Junhui for the sight he walked into that day. And it had been a _day_. He had woken up late, had sprung out of bed and thrown himself into the shower with all the ferocity of someone with a healthy fear of consequence only to realise that he'd had his schedule mixed up and had thought that it was Friday instead of Thursday. This meant that instead of having only half an hour to make it to the recording studio, he now had two. Cursing himself and his inability to read the date off his phone, he had settled down for a good breakfast only to find that they were out of milk for his cereal.

Slamming the fridge with a frustrated sigh, he had grabbed his things and stormed out of the dorm, choosing to make a pit stop at the cafe near their dorm instead. He had made it through the late breakfast without much issue, and with a lot of thanks to the extra shot vanilla latte he had ordered and had arrived at the company building only a half an hour ahead of schedule. 

He checked the studio number one last time before making his way up to the floor where all their recording studios were. He figured, if anything, he could at least grab a quick nap before Jihoon and Bumzu arrived but once again, life had other plans for him. He pushed open the door of the recording studio just in time to hear a moan that was all too familiar to him. He reflexively turned toward the sound and there they were, on the couch, Minghao straddling Mingyu, head tipped back as Mingyu mouthed his way along Minghao’s neck. Junhui stood there frozen for what felt like an eternity until another moan returned him to his senses and he whirled around, throwing himself into one of the vocal practice rooms that lined the wall opposite the recording booths.

He clicked the lock shut the minute the door closed behind him and he sank to the floor in the darkness. His heart felt like it was being squeezed out of his rib cage and he didn’t know if he wanted to cry or throw up, maybe both. His body decided for him when the tears started to spill, hot and heavy down his cheeks as the sobs he was trying to keep in rattled against his ribcage. In some part of his mind, he remembered a Minghao of two years ago, telling him how much it hurt. Those words now rang in his ears because it _hurt_ , his heart felt like it was being torn apart and he couldn't quite get over the pressure in his chest. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't get the image of them out of his mind because while hearing Minghao talk about Mingyu had been one thing, seeing them together in _that_ way had felt like Junhui’s whole world had collapsed in on itself. His head throbbed, his eyes were rubbed raw, and his whole body felt like it was on fire but there was nothing he could do but let himself be consumed by the flames.

He let his head fall heavily against the door, the thunk ringing out loudly in the practice room as he prayed that the impact would knock the image of them out of his mind, or at the very least it would knock him out. He lifted his head and was just about to let it fall when he heard a gasp come from further within the room. _Fuck_ , why wasn’t anything going right today? He buried his head in his hands, as he tried to edge away from the door, hoping whoever was in the room would get the hint and leave him alone. Instead, he felt hands on him and then a voice, deep and familiar, albeit a bit husky from sleep, spoke.

“Jun? Oh my god what happened?” The sound of Wonwoo’s voice, soft and comfortable, now tinged with fear and concern, was what broke down his defences completely. His first whimper spilt out and then he was clutching desperately at Wonwoo as sobs wracked his body so hard he could barely breathe let alone hold himself upright. He cried until there were no more tears left in him to cry, eyes dry and throat sore, curling into Wonwoo's warmth as much as he could because he just needed to be _held_. And Wonwoo held him, firm and unyielding, his aversion to skinship totally forgotten as he let Junhui cry out the pieces of his heart until it was soaking through Wonwoo's t-shirt. Junhui was so out of it that it was only when he was finally calming down that he realised Wonwoo was rocking him, gently, whispering _its okays_ into his ear, and pressing kisses into his crown. 

“Wonwoo?” His voice shook and it sounded wet and garbled, muffled by tears.

“It’s me, Junnie. I’m here. It’s okay,” Wonwoo whispered against him and Junhui couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him as he clutched Wonwoo harder, burying his face in the curve of Wonwoo’s neck. “Shhh… You’re okay. It’s okay.” 

A hand came up to stroke the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair gently and Junhui relaxed slightly, the touch helping to calm him down. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but I’m here okay?”

His heart twisted in his chest for Wonwoo, who had always been there for him and was always so understanding, never forcing Junhui to speak if he didn't want to. He bit his lip to hold back a sob as his grip tightened just a bit more before he finally released Wonwoo’s t-shirt from where it had been bunched up in his hands. “M-Minghao… and Mingyu…” he broke off as another cry ripped through him.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo hissed, arm tightening protectively around Junhui. “Did you see?”

Junhui nodded, and Wonwoo swore again. “I’m so sorry, Junnie.” But Junhui shook his head.

“‘S not your fault,” he hiccuped. “Walked in on them.”

“Still…” There was anger in Wonwoo’s voice now, and Junhui didn’t want Wonwoo angry on his behalf, so he pulled away to level what he hoped would pass for a mildly intimidating look as he reached out to try and smooth the crease between Wonwoo's brows.

“Don’t be mad at them,” he whispered when Wonwoo’s gaze met his own and something flickered behind Wonwoo’s eyes at his words but instead of speaking, he reached for Junhui, firm hands cupping his face as they slowly brushed away the tears that were staining his cheeks. When he was satisfied that he’d gotten all of Junhui’s tears, he leaned forward with a sigh to rest his forehead against Junhui’s and Junhui closed his eyes reflexively.

“They hurt you, Junnie.” Wonwoo’s breath was hot against Junhui’s face he spoke and Junhui couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him. “If I can’t get mad at them, who do I get mad at? I can’t be mad at you.”

“Yes, you can. It’s my fault anyway, for not being able to let Minghao go.”

“Still can’t get mad at you.” Junhui could hear the smile in his voice and his lips twitched upwards in response.

“Yes, you can.” He opened his eyes to find Wonwoo looking directly at him, whatever that had flickered in there earlier out in full force now, and it made Junhui warm all the way to his toes. “Get mad at me, please. I- I need to let him go. I can't do this anymore, Wonwoo. I won't- I won't be able to take it.”

Wonwoo sighed as he pulled away, eyes not once leaving Junhui's. "You know how I am, Junnie. You know I won't go easy on you, and it will probably hurt. A lot." He stopped to take a shuddering breath. "But I will do it, because it's you, because I care about you too fucking much to see you destroy yourself this way, because _I love you_. But you have to tell me- tell me that you're sure because I-"

"I'm sure, Wonwoo," Junhui cut him off reaching forward to pull Wonwoo closer so that he could return to his spot against Wonwoo's chest, head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as Wonwoo wrapped his arms around him reflexively. He pressed his lips to the skin there, just above the neckline of his t-shirt. "I love you too."

Their conversation from almost a year ago drifted back to him then, of how he’d wished that Wonwoo had been the person he’d fallen in love with instead of Minghao. Now, as he sat there, with Wonwoo's arms around him and the sounds of both their heartbeats ringing in his ears as they fall into sync with each other he couldn't help but wonder if maybe, _just maybe_ , he could.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!♡♡ I hope the ending wasn't too ambiguous? But I really did think the prompt needed something with an open ending, so here we are! If you have any speculations about the ending, or you want to know any specific headcanons, feel free to ask in the comments below :)
> 
> Also, if you maybe... kinda? liked it? Please do leave a kudos, they feed us starving authors. Thank you once again ❤︎
> 
> Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/moonfleur_) or [curious cat](http://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_) ♥︎


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